


Evidence

by raiveparade (Lacramoria)



Category: Batman Beyond
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, everyone's a bit younger than in canon, not as old bruce wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacramoria/pseuds/raiveparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda Waller chose the right assassin for the job to kill Warren and Mary McGinnis. Terry grows up alone on the streets of Gotham, no closer to becoming Batman than he was before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> A what-if the Phantasm had killed Terry's parents. Also what-if Bruce Wayne wasn't a complete asshole to Dick Grayson. I twisted canon a bit to suit my needs, so the timeline is a bit earlier than the timeline of Batman Beyond. Bruce's personality tends to change a lot depending on the writer--he can be really serious and terrible sometimes, and then other times he'll be a lot less terrible and a bit nicer toward his family, and it's the latter Bruce I decided to use here while also incorporating how he is in DCAU canon. I suppose part of me will never get over his treatment of Dick as mentioned in the Batman Beyond comics. Anyway. This should be only five chapters at most.

Prologue: Gotham

 

                Despite what he may have wanted everyone to think, Batman was infallible. He was prone to mistakes. He was not God. He could not be everywhere and know everything and stop everyone. Crime would always be ahead of him, even as he was ahead of it. He was just a man underneath the cape and cowl, and his protégés were no army.

 

                Batman stared at the two bodies splayed out on the ground, a pool of blood spread out beneath them on the wet cement. From his vantage point on the fire-escape, he could see all the police officers checking the crime scene. Among them, Commissioner Gordon’s familiar figure stood out. His hands were shoved deep into trench coat pockets as he sighed down at the set of bodies. The lights of the movie theater bore down on the scene, but under the ominous clouds in the raining sky the whole thing looked like a shot out of an old noir film. There was a bad taste in Batman’s mouth, and ugly memories coming to the forefront of his mind. It was too reminiscent of one horrible night he could never forget. He shut down that part of himself. All he needed was the anger that boiled in him instead.

 

                Batman adjusted the lenses on his cowl, focusing on the bodies and what evidence he could see without getting closer. That would be for after the police had done their job to the best of their ability. He knew Gordon would be looking into this as much as he could, but cases like these were often never resolved. Batman felt the bones in his jaw strain from how hard he grit his teeth. He was silent in his approach, making just the right amount of movement for Gordon’s eyes to be drawn toward his obscured figure. The shadows of cars and buildings hid him from most of the rest of the officers, but they were well aware of how this went by now.

 

                “Batman,” Gordon greeted with the usual grimness. “Looks like we’ve got another murderer on the loose. And possible kidnapping.”

 

                “Kidnapping?” Batman frowned, scanning the evidence on the ground. Scanners were picking up items that had been spilled from the woman’s purse. There were three movie tickets for an 8pm showing. A wallet was open next to the male victim’s hand. He could see the usual items: debit and credit cards, I.D, family photos. Drawing forward, Batman reached down to pick up the item with the tips of his fingers; careful to mind the evidence. There was a boy grinning up at the camera, dark hair, blue eyes—he had to shake himself, thinking he was allowing the crime scene get to him—but no, the boy was still there when he refocused his attention. “You think they took the boy?”

 

                “Can’t be sure. Kid could’ve run off.”

 

                Gordon looked tired and worn and Batman thought it wouldn’t be long until the man retired. They were both getting along in years. He felt it as well—not that he thought himself old, but ten years ago his reflexes had been better, his body healed faster. He couldn’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t slowing down. Batman set the wallet back down where he’d picked it up. The scanners continued to do as they needed, feeding him information he would have to look over later at the Batcave.

 

                “Listen, Batman, we have this covered here. We’ll find the perp and the kid. Riddler’s still on the loose from last night’s heist and there’s still no leads.”

 

                “Don’t worry, Gordon.” Batman readied his grappling gun. “I’ll find him.”

 

                He heard the man’s voice in the midst of another sentence just as he lifted up into the air. His feet hit the rooftop with barely a sound and he was moving, mind whirling with possibilities. The boy was still at the forefront of his thoughts. The whole incident was too close to home and the further away he got, the better. He didn’t need the distraction of his parent’s deaths dredging up old pain as it always did. No matter how far away he got from it, the memories always came back as if it happened yesterday.

 

                “Alfred,” Bruce said into the comlink, “patch me into Nightwing’s channel and send him all the info from the crime scene.”

 

                “Do you mean to hand him the case, sir?” Alfred’s voice crackled in his ear. He could hear the ever dutiful butler’s fingers already doing as he asked. “I believe Master Dick might be a little…tied up at the moment.”

 

                “Patch him through, anyway.”

 

                Batman leapt from one building to the next. If he was to work on apprehending the Riddler, he’d have to get this out of his head first.

 

                “Bad timing, Batman,” Dick’s voice was every bit as annoyed as he thought it would be. There was the sound of gunshots in the background, and Dick’s ragged breathing as he tried to keep out of harm’s way. “Better be important.”

 

                “I need you to look into something for me.” Below he could see the Batmobile. He opened the hatch and dropped into the seat, ready to return to the batcave. “Meet me at the Batcave when you’re through.”

 

                “Really?” there was a long pause as Dick dealt with whatever criminal element Bludhaven was throwing at him. He almost chastised himself for this. If Dick was hurt because he was busy listening to him that would be his fault. The same way the lost eye was his fault. “You couldn’t wait to tell me this until _after_?”

 

                “It can’t wait.”

 

* * *

 

 

                At one time, the manor had been almost lively. He remembered when Dick was just a teenager, and looked up to him like he was without fault. He’d wanted to be that person once upon a time. He’d wanted to live up to all of the boy’s expectations, but he wasn’t that person. He wasn’t made to be a father, as much as he tried. There was too much on him that was damaged and broken. Dick had grown into the person his child self would have idolized. Bruce could see that, even if he didn’t express it well. The two of them were nowhere near as close as they had once been, but things were better than they were over a year ago after the incident.

 

                And there had been Tim, but these days he didn’t like to dwell on him very often. He kept tabs on his former protégé, just to make sure he was doing well, but otherwise stayed out of his life. The young man didn’t want anything to do with him. Bruce wasn’t sure he could blame him. Sometimes Barbara would appear at the manor, but things had soured between them as well. Things had soured between all of them. He counted it a miracle that Dick spoke to him at all. There had been a time when he thought, for sure, it would be him and Alfred all alone again.

 

                “Anything new from the GCPD?” Bruce knew there would be nothing, but wishful thinking forced the words from his mouth.

 

                “Nothing, yet, sir. Master Dick said he would be on his way. I must admit, he didn’t sound incredibly _thrilled_.”

 

                “Not my problem, Alfred.” Bruce pulled the cowl from his face and stalked toward the cave’s computer, ready to process all that he’d gained from the crime scene. He would not to relay as much information as he could to Dick before the other took the case himself. Then he could get some headway on the Riddler. They couldn’t have that maniac on the loose for too long, lest they want to him to hatch some ridiculous scheme on Gotham. Bruce wanted him back in Arkham well before he had to hear anything on the air concerning Edward E. Nigma.

 

                “Sir, are you alright?” Alfred stood at his left looking up at the computer screen. Footage of the crime scene played before them. He picked out a few items on screen for further analysis and the computer constructed a 3D image of each one. He needed to analyze the ballistics, the wounds on the body, the footprints leading away from the crime scene.

 

                “I’m fine,” Bruce said. The bony hand of his aging butler still settled on his shoulder and squeezed. Fingers stuttered over the keyboard before continuing their pace across the keys. He was fine, or at least aware enough that taking the case himself would prove futile. They might never find the boy. They might never find the culprit. As much as he hated to say it, there were more important things he needed to be focused on. He couldn’t obsess over one case—not this one.

 

                Dick announced himself twenty minutes later as a shadow looming from the upper entrance to the batcave. Bruce didn’t look up. Years ago he might have entered with a quip. Dick wasn’t like Bruce. He wasn’t the quiet type, and that hadn’t really changed much unless the two of them were together. Dick was still dressed in his Nightwing gear—a modified version of his old suit. It was a little bulkier, had a little bit more padding, but was ultimately the same look he’d always had except for the eyepatch. Bruce always felt immensely guilty every time he looked at it, but he’d never say so out loud. He could admit to himself that it was wrong of him, but he’d said his apologies once. The fact that Dick stood here meant he’d accepted that.

 

                “So, tell me what was so important you couldn’t wait until after I’d finished.” Dick crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at the seated Bruce.

 

                “There was a murder in front of the theater near crime alley. A man and a woman were shot as they left the theater. Gordon believes their son was with them, and according to the evidence I’ve gathered, he’s right. So far there’s no sign of the boy, so either the assailant took him or he ran away.”

 

                Dick stared up at the large screen and all the data collected so far. Bruce could see the gears turning his head, the way his mouth downturned, the furrow of his brows. He grimaced and the look was painful.

                “It’s gotta be a coincidence,” Dick said. They both knew what they were talking about. And of course it was just a coincidence. There was no evidence to suggest this was something else. Except that there were no coincidences in this business. But Bruce couldn’t figure out what this might mean. Could there be a criminal simply trying to reenact high profile murders in Gotham? It was such a random occurrence, Bruce couldn’t be sure unless a string of murders happened in the same fashion.

 

                “I need you to find the boy.”

 

                Dick shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and nodded. “Yeah, sure. I can do that. No kid should be left out on the streets.”

 

                Bruce said nothing and turned back to the computer. He was already pulling up the information on the Riddler’s case. He couldn’t afford to worry any longer about the boy. He trusted Dick to be able to do the job.

 

                But days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. Dick never found the killer. Didn’t find a single trace of who might have done it. They ran every test, every scenario. They narrowed down the list of suspects, and still the trail was cold. The boy was in the wind, if he was even still alive. Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about it, and neither could Dick. The months turned into years, and it became a cold case in the batcomputer’s harddrive.

 

                Every once in a while, the two of them would meet over coffee and they would talk. Somehow the case would always come back up. Eventually they let it die, let it be forgotten. Dick wouldn’t bring it up, but sometimes Bruce saw him looking through the old files. He saw him linger over the photo that had been in Warren McGinnis’ wallet.


End file.
